


It starts as a hug

by sb_essebi



Series: Whouffaldi one-shots [8]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Making Love, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: 2014 Xmas Last Christmas, the road to sex on the floor is paved with hugs, they're just so crazy about each other okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sb_essebi/pseuds/sb_essebi
Summary: Post LC: the Doctor and Clara are finally reunited on the TARDIS... it starts as a hug, then flows into so much more.





	It starts as a hug

It starts as a hug. One long and tight that takes the Doctor by surprise and has goosebumps cover his skin as warmth spreads in his body. Then Clara presses a kiss on his lips, quick and feather-light but daring and hopeful. He doesn't respond –he's too shocked to- but he doesn't reject her either, and he licks his lips automatically as he stares down at hers.

She smiles and he opens his mouth to say something. He forgets what it was when she takes advantage of his parted lips to kiss him properly, bold and confident, her hands suddenly hot on his cheeks and then in his hair. Something awakens inside him as she presses her body against his and he's kissing her back. There's the bitter taste of who has just woken up, but he doesn't care. There's kissing, lots of it, sloppy and hurried and maybe too wet, there are short gasps and small bites, needy moans and hands pulling closer, grasping clothes, tugging at hair. The Doctor shudders violently every now and then, when she kisses him  _just so_  and their bodies touch  _just there_  –damn Clara and whatever it is that she does to him that makes him feel like a teenager with an hormonal crisis.

The subtle warmth from before is soon turned into a roaring heat burning his nerves and veins and all else that's left of him –which can't be much given that he feels so light, like he's floating. Her body feels so damn hot even through clothes and he wants her, wants Clara like no other woman before and he's so hard in his pants right now that the zip of his trousers is a torture and he'd take Clara right here on the cold metal floor. It's a good thing that her plans aren't different, apparently, as she has already tossed his jacket behind him and is currently working at the zipper of his hoodie as best as she can without breaking their kiss. It looks like a bad thing that he trips on that same jacket and falls backwards, but when he's about to complain about his shoulders hitting the ground the Doctor notices that Clara is on top of him, straddling his hips and putting off her nightie –she's gloriously naked underneath and that's definitely not a bad thing at all.

He spends a good minute staring at her. She's beautiful, and sensual in her flirtatious confidence as she lets him look, drinking his gaze, almost daring him to deny that he's hers, now and always and forever. Some other man might be able to see her flaws, but not the Doctor: he can only see her gorgeous red, swollen lips, her cheeks flush with arousal and her eyes dark with desire, her silky brown hair, a bit messy now, the curves of her breasts and the large amount of creamy bare skin in the form of skinny arms, a flat stomach and well-toned legs.

The Doctor struggles out of his hoodie and moves to get rid of his jumper and undershirt, but he cannot think straight when Clara hurriedly starts to unbutton and unzip his trousers. He groans throatily and his eyes fall shut. He doesn't even try to stop the instinctive rocking of his back arching off the floor, yearning for her touch as he feels his pants being pulled down a little and her hot small hands on his bare skin. A hint of pre-cum reveals her just how much he wants her –if she hasn't figured already– and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know she's smiling when she strokes his length once and rubs her thumb over the tip, teasing him.

The Doctor growls huskily in protest, something about wanting her  _now_ , but he finds his eyes open and his breath rate three time faster when Clara slowly sinks down on him. He doesn't do it on purpose, but his hips jerk upwards and thrust hard into her, earning a sound between a gasp and a small scream from Clara, then the briefest laugh.

"Impatient," she breathes, voice low and throaty.

He inhales sharply, barely earing her. The feeling of her body around his, hot and tight and soaking wet for him is overpowering and overwhelming and spreads a whole new level of heat in his nerves with crashing waves of addicting, completing, perfect pleasure, so intense that he is unable to think for some long, wonderful seconds of oblivion. When he returns –at least partly– to reality, he mutters an embarrassed apology.

"Not going to last."

Clara laughs again and adjusts her position on top of him, taking him as deep as possible, their hipbones touching. Her eyes drift shut and she bites her lower lip for a moment.

"Same."

For once, the Doctor is sure she's not lying, if the light contractions of her inner walls around his length are anything to go by.

He's still wearing a jumper and undershirt, his trousers and pants are only pulled down till mid-thigh and his shoes and socks are still on, but he couldn't care less. They start two different, fast and urgent rhythms that soon merge into one, perfectly matching each other. He thrusts forcefully into her to meet her moves and it makes them both moan loudly over and over, with a whimper from Clara and a grunt from the Doctor just now and then, some breathy " _Doctor_ "s and dozens of " _Clara_ "s. His hands find their place on her upper thighs, cupping her arse firmly enough to leave bruises, her own hands grabbing his forearms tightly, digging small half-moons in the flesh beneath his jumper.

Their breaths become more and more shallow, then turn into broken gasps as the Doctor feels them both rapidly get closer to their climax and roughly pulls Clara down for a fierce kiss, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, his shoulders lifting off the floor as he pounds into her relentlessly. They stop kissing, they forget to breathe, his eyes slam closed tightly as he feels Clara's heart beat furiously against his still-clothed chest and her muscles clench around him. She comes with a surprised gasp followed by a moan of sheer ecstasy, her breath hot on his neck as he gives a few other thrusts, reaching his climax when Clara is still riding hers, bodies trembling against each other, nerves set aflame and bones shaken, her name on his lips and flashes of light exploding underneath his eyelids.

The Doctor collapses back on the floor and feels Clara lay on his chest, smiling weakly against his skin. He can't move or think, his brain is pleasantly foggy and his body deliciously dizzy, small electric shocks still making him shiver, the hot waves of his orgasm refusing to leave his body completely. After a while he becomes aware of his breath steading, of Clara's gentle weight on him and of the heavy sheet of sweat all over his face and neck. His undershirt is soaked too. He shifts beneath Clara just enough to slide out of her and she presses two small kisses over his hearts, still hammering with the heat of arousal.

"I love you," she whispers almost shyly, spreading a different kind of heat all over him. He smiles in spite of himself.

"Pointless to say it, now that you've shown me," he murmurs.

"It's never pointless to say certain things," she retorts, looking up at him.

He holds her a little closer and smiles again, pressing his chin against the top of her head, starting to trace circles on her bare back that might or might not be an ancient love poem in Gallifreyan. Clara moves to rest her elbows on his chest, interrupting him, staring down at him.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm waiting for you to say it."

"Oh."

"I understand now that you've said it before. Just not the words."

"Maybe it's because those words don't even start to describe what I feel for you, Clara. They don't mean enough. The English language is so limited in this matter," he explains gently.

"Words are just words, Doctor. They mean what you want them to mean."

He thinks about it for a second, then whispers: "You are probably an amazing teacher, Clara."

"So?"

"I love you, Clara Oswald," he promises, looking straight into her eyes. "What do you make of that?"

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure I'll find quite some things to  _do_."

Clara moves half-sitting on his chest and grins wickedly down at him. The Doctor's breath gets caught in his throat and he wonders if this is another dream, just because, to him, she appears too beautiful to be just human. More like a goddess. Her skin is glowing with light sweat and a new blush is making its way on her face and neck, her eyes are dark again and she stares into his eyes with this sort of expectant gaze, somewhere between a hunter looking at his prey and athlete yearning for his prize.

"Why are you looking at me like…that?" he manages to babble.

"I'm lacking a mirror now, but I think this is my 'bed, now' look," she states firmly, this curious spark in her eyes that he doesn't quite understand.

"I might not be an expert, but you don't look sleepy to me.

"I never said anything about sleep. I said. Bed. Now." To emphasise her point she bends over and takes his lower lip between her teeth, pulling gently, letting go of it very slowly only to trace its line with her tongue. The Doctor can't tell why it feels so amazingly erotic, but it leaves him flustered and longing for more. Now he understands what she wants –because he wants it too all of a sudden.

Clara doesn't bother to retrieve her nightie, forcing him to struggle with pulling his trousers and pants up properly again and to hurry to avoid walking behind her, just so he can look where he's going instead of staring at the smooth skin of her backside.

He shows her his bedroom, and she spends little time glancing around, comfortably sitting on his bed instead, belonging there as if it was hers –actually, it always was. The Doctor is still standing in the middle of the room, still staring at her. He really can't help it, there's nothing else worth looking at when Clara's around.

"Undress for me," she half-pleads half-orders. "I want to see all of you."

He slowly tosses his jumper on the pavement, then tugs his white undershirt out of his trousers, Clara's gaze fixed on him as he gets rid of that garment too, leaving his chest bare for her too see. Next his shoes are unlaced and taken off, then it's the turn of his socks as she watches attentively. Clara gives a small appreciative smile when his trousers and pants pool on the floor and he steps out of them, every inch of his skin exposed to her eager brown eyes. The Doctor blushes as she stares hungrily at him in a way that's shamelessly lustful and wanton –his ears are probably purple red now, considering the way they're burning.

"Turn around," she requests.

"Clara!" he tries to protest. He has called her game-player before –he didn't know when he was well off.

"Do as you're told, Doctor."

He obeys with a heavy sigh. When he faces her again she's grinning contently and crooking a finger at him. As the Doctor steps closer, Clara scoots herself up towards the centre of the bed. He climbs on the mattress and she pulls him close until he ends up between her parted thighs. She presses a lingering kiss on his lips.

"Look at you," she whispers, smiling.

"What about me?"

"You," she answers simply, pushing him back a little and starting to explore his chest with her hands, caressing lightly, counting his ribs with her thumbs, massaging his shoulders and arms, making his eyes drift close and an involuntary hum escape his lips.

Clara kisses him again and it's gentle now, tender, little warm sparks making his lips tingle as he puts his hands on her cheeks. He takes his time to taste her mouth and caress her tongue with his, he pushes her down on the sheets and covers her body with kisses and small licks and love bites as her hands roam all over his back, causing them both to sigh and shiver. The Doctor shows her that he  _does_  have some experience at his hands and Clara rewards him with long moans and some muttered obscenities when he sucks lightly at her clit and laps at her, parting the lips of her sex with his tongue and letting out a pleased moan himself as he tastes their shared orgasm. Soon he adds his fingers to help his mouth. She rocks her hips upwards rhythmically as he pleasures her, and he smiles at the way her right hand grips his hair tightly, almost painfully, and her left gives the same treatment to sheets. It's an unexpected turn-on to hear all the "Fuck"s and "Oh, Doctor"s and some particularly colourful comments about his fingers being long and slender and extremely talented.

He makes her come, hard, and after a minute or so spent trying to catch her breath she's eager to taste herself in his mouth, move on top of him and repay the favour, even though she's still panting lightly. The Doctor isn't able to keep track of the noises he makes when he feels the heat of her mouth surrounding the tip of his cock, the calculated moves of her tongue and her small deft hands caressing his balls or the sensitive skin of his inner thighs: there is a long series of profanities in Gallifreyan, though, and at least one hundred little groans that sound unmistakably like her name. His head is pressed back into the pillow, neck tensed, his eyes shut so tight they hurt and his hands closed in fists around the sheets in a vain attempt to anchor himself to reality. Clara is careful not to make him come, she  _just_  teases him to the point of insanity, enough to make him beg –which is exactly what she wants.

They take it slower this time - _Clara_  lets him take it slower- and the Doctor is grateful for it. She pulls him on top, and he doesn't know if it's a sign of trust or submission or both or something else entirely, but it feels nice –she looks so small and vulnerable like this. They make love in a way that feels very sweet to him, less loud and less frenzied but not less passionate, her legs wrapped around his waist keeping him close and her hands caressing his neck, arms and shoulders as a new sheet of sweat covers them both. He savours the smiles in between her quiet moans: maybe they're contagious because he starts smiling now and then too, or maybe he's just happy to be with her now, like this, skin to skin, without veils, just being honest with each other for once instead of hiding their feelings.

After many long minutes this slow pace stops being enough, for both of them. The Doctor starts thrusting faster and harder almost automatically in response to his need and Clara matches his rhythm instinctively, rocking her hips upwards, pulling him close for a kiss. He can feel her heart beating like a drum and his heartbeats aren't any calmer, he can hear the blood rushing in his veins. He feels heat and electricity burn his nerves more and more as pleasure takes over, tension tightening at the pit of his stomach. His arms hurt with the effort of supporting his weight but he forgets that when Clara shudders beneath him with a new orgasm, pulling him over the edge with her in a second.

They lay in each other's arms, catching their breath together. Clara laughs softly and the Doctor kisses her smiling lips before rolling beside her. She snuggles against him and hugs him tenderly. He kisses her forehead once, then twice and pulls her close, grabbing a warm blanket to cover them.

"I love you." They say it at the same time, and they laugh.

"I'm so tired," Clara murmurs, searching his gaze, her eyes bright.

"I know," he soothes. "Sleep, Clara. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," he assures.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere without me, Doctor," she whispers, only half-awake.

The sound of her voice is enough to lull him to sleep.


End file.
